From Haven With Love
by F Le Rulz
Summary: Kinloch's least talented mage is forced to flee with a small group of mages and templars to avoid the war. Their only hope lies with the newly formed Inquisition, the charming Herald of Andraste, and an old friend from the Ferelden circle. Will Sibby find her place in this new world order? Is Cullen really a changed man? And just how dangerous is Alexander Trevelyan?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the characters you recognise.

Note: In this story, Greagoir retired long before the events of Inquisition and by the time the circles fall, Kinloch has a new Knight Commander.

* * *

Dear Diary,

We're leaving Kinloch. The fighting is getting closer and closer and the Circle is too obvious a target. With Chantry aid spread thin, we don't have the means to launch a sortie if we're ever surrounded.

It's strange. For twelve years, all I ever wanted to was to leave here, but now that we are leaving, I'm loathe to do it. For all that the circle tower was my prison, it's also been my home for more than half my life. I don't have any other home left. I know it's not about the blocks of stone, but I swear this place has memories of its own. This was where I met Sol, Anders…

No, I won't be sad. It's ridiculous to be. I'm finally getting my wish. I finally get to be in the world rather than observing it through a narrow stone window. Home is with the people who love you and all my friends are going with me.

Still, this moonlight shimmering over Lake Calenhad, shattering as it meets the ripples on the water, so so beautifully sad. I've seen this scene hundreds of times. Will tonight be the last? You don't think you're going to miss things until you're just about to lose them.

I think I hear someone looking for me. Oh, it's just Andrew. I might stay a while, say goodbye to the tower.

* * *

The moon was setting by the time the small band of Templars and mages, half trained and weary, pushed the boat out onto the glassy surface of the lake. Sibby cast a glance back at the silent stone tower that held so many memories, both good and bad.

"Sybille, come on!" Andrew called. The others were all looking warily at the woods surrounding the lake, trying to discern any movement amongst the dark boughs that could indicate the presence of enemies.

There was nothing. She clambered into the boat and sat next to Knight Commander Erik, who had been stripped of his commission when Kinloch had been disbanded. Was the Templar really going that grey? She hadn't noticed until now. They loaded their meagre belongings onto the boat.

"So where are we going to go?" asked David, a young apprentice whose voice had just started changing.

"Out into the wilds, with the rest of the refugees," said the Knight Commander — Erik. Ser Erik. He would always be the Knight Commander to her. "Somewhere we can hide and blend in to weather this storm."

"And how long will we stay there for?" asked Florence. She clutched her small bundle to her chest, her eyes inordinately wide in her thin, pale face.

"As long as we need," was the grim reply.

It didn't comfort Florence one little bit. Sibby gave her a small smile, to assure her that it was all going to be all right. She didn't believe it herself, but as one of the oldest mages in the group, she had a responsibility to keep the others calm.  
Andrew finished loading the boat and got in himself. Out of his Templar armour, he somehow seemed smaller, and there were shadows beneath his eyes. Had he grown old too?

She took up one oar, and he the other. Together, they rowed towards the shores of Lake Calenhad.

* * *

Dear Diary,

It's been four days since we left the Circle tower. Whatever excitement there had been initially has all but dissipated. We're trying to blend in with the other refugees heading for Ferelden's Hinterlands. King Alistair is the only monarch in Southern Thedas who hasn't condemned all mages. They whisper that he's still pining over an apostate — a Chasind witch. I think I met her that time when Sol came back during the Blight to help with the Uldred issue. Yellow eyes, lots of feathers.

Knight Commander Erik had us all liberate commoners' clothing. The downfall of most apostates escaping from circles, he said, was that they never thought to wear anything other than mage robes. All the enchantments in the world won't deter any Templar with eyes. I bet Anders wished he'd known to do that. Maybe he wouldn't have…

Who am I kidding? It's not like a pair of rough woollen trousers would have changed his mind about shit.

Erik has me rationing out our Lyrium supply. We brought all that we had but that's not very much to begin with. I found that enchanter's secret stash but even that was running low, with Orzammar's trade having been interrupted by the war. It sounds so civilized when what King Bhelen actually means is that we're too screwed up to do business with. I happen to agree with his assessment. There are bodies everywhere, their mouths and nostrils and eyes crowded with humming black flies, with little white maggots squirming all over their wounds and hair. They're just lying there by the side of the road for animals to chew on. Some of them are still alive, but beyond aid. Andrew wanted to help them, but what could we do? We barely have enough supplies for ourselves. So we left them. I'm trying not to think about their eyeless sockets. The birds, they go for the eyes first. Pluck them out like juicy nuts. Oh Maker, Creators, whatever. I'm sorry. I really am. But I need to live.

* * *

Dear Diary,

We've set up base in the wilderness where there are more goats than people. There are bears too but they don't really bother us. We're too well armed. Of more concern are the Lyrium smugglers, who are suspicious of anyone who crosses their paths. We've found a supplier though. That would help. We're hoping that we can last out here long enough. Word has it that the Divine has called for a Conclave at the Temple of Sacred Ashes to try and resolve he war. Is it too naive to hope that it'll work?

I don't believe in the Maker — if he's real, and he really is all powerful, then he has a lot to answer for. He owes me. But I really do hope someone out there, up there, is taking note of all these prayers. This war has got to stop. I have reason to hate the Chantry — more than most, I would say, but if this madness goes on for much longer, none of us would be left alive to remember why we're fighting. I can't imagine this was what Anders was wanting. He always just wanted to help everyone. I don't believe what they say, that he was a maleficar. That's not the man I knew. We've talked about this before. The last thing he would want is for all these mages to die needlessly. We're all being played. We're being played by the Chantry who look more and more needed, more and more relevant as time goes on.

Erik's started getting the shakes. He needs a lot more Lyrium these days. I have to wonder, does the Chantry know what it's doing to these men and women who dedicate their entire lives to the faith? Is that how they repay their loyalty? I know what happens to Templars who get too old and absentminded to serve. The Chantry blames us for needing the Templars' sacrifice. And they let us blame the Templars for our suffering even though it's the Chantry that's ordering it. The Templar Order didn't kill my family. It was sanctioned by the Chantry, who wields the Templars as its weapons. Templars, mages, even kings; we're all just toys in their game for eternity, or whatever it is they actually are playing for!

(Here, ink has been splattered, possibly from a shattered nib. The paper is slightly torn and the edges are browned and curled.)

* * *

Dear Diary,

I lost control yesterday. I almost burned you. Hah, that would be the second magical incident to have been caused by me. Except nobody knows what I almost did and I intend to keep it that way.

I've given Erik an Elfroot and spindleweed mixture to manage his pain and the shakes. He called me Amell today. He thought I was Sol. I'll give him a higher dosage, perhaps, and see if that helps. Even these common herbs are hard to come by, because the rogue templars have control of the waterways where spindleweed grows and the rogue mages have the wood with the elfroot. I can't help but wonder if this is actually a Chantry plot. Before Kirkwall, the circles and the Order were almost getting along. Is the Divine afraid that she's about to become obsolete? With more magical developments and even more scientific developments, the Maker and Andraste seem more and more like distant fairy tales. So the Chantry is jerking our leashes to remind us who's in charge.

Fuck the Chantry.

* * *

FUCK

* * *

Sibby couldn't write. She couldn't do much. All hope was gone. The conclave had been blown up and, along with it, any chance for peace. They would never return to Kinloch, never come out of hiding. They were all going to die out here.

"They're talking about a new Inquisition," Andrew said, coming over to hand her a bowl of thin soup of nug and wild roots.

"What's that?" asked Sibby, looking up at her old friend. Andrew sat down next to her on the damp mossy log and stared into the campfire.

"Long ago, when the world was in chaos," he began intoning as if telling a story to a child, "the Inquisition was formed to bring order to a world on the edge of destruction. I can't remember exactly what was going on. They later became the basis of the Templars and the Seekers."

"Sorry, Andrew, but I don't think more Templars is going to solve the issue at hand."

Andrew gave a short laugh and poked another stick into the campfire. "I thought you liked us," he said.

"I like you as people," said Sibby. "You're my friends. But the order — the order is not my friend."

"I hear this new Inquisition is bent on finding a solution to the Mage Templar conflict," said Andrew. "And the hole in the sky, whatever that is. They're looking for recruits, of any kind."

"I'm not sure I trust them. They sound like too much of a good thing."

"We may not have a choice soon. We're running low on lyrium."

They'd been raiding rogue Templar caravans to replenish their stocks, but with winter setting in, there were fewer and fewer of those coming through and the ones that did were heavily guarded; far too heavily guarded for their ragtag bunch to raid.

Some of the smugglers were willing to trade, but for exorbitant prices. The last time any of them got paid was when some rich Ferelden captain gave her gold in exchange for a night in bed. It was the easiest five gold sovereigns, and the most legal, she'd ever made. The others thought she'd sold some pelts. She wasn't going to tell them or anyone, ever.

The five gold sovereigns had bought them enough lyrium to last them five days. It was an expensive habit, created to leash Templars to the chantry. They'd been rationing their supplies to stretch them out a bit longer, but there was only so much time before they ran out completely. Erik was getting worse day by day. He hid it, for their sakes, but she could see.

"I hear they've taken back the crossroads," Andrew continued. "The Inquisition. They've got someone who can deal with the demon rifts. They call him the Herald of Andraste. I know you don't believe in religion, and I'm not asking you to, but if they can deal with the rifts, maybe there is something there for us. Why don't we go down to the crossroads tomorrow, check it out?"

"Fine," said Sibby.

"Eat your stew," said Andrew. "We don't need mages fainting as well. Templars are bad enough. Tomorrow, we go to meet the Inquisition."

* * *

The Crossroads were teeming with activity and there was a palpable buzz of excitement in the air, like a hive of bees awakening to spring after a long, bitter winter. Everywhere, there were signs of this new Inquisition, with the sunburst sword and the all seeing eye on every banner. It was much changed from what she remembered, just a few weeks ago, when everyone had been living in fear of the rebel mages and Templars taking over and killing everyone.

She picked her way over the wooden paths laid down hastily over puddles, following Andrew's lead. What did he hope to achieve? Was he just going to approach one of the soldiers and say, "Hey, what about this new Inquisition, huh?"

Actually, considering it was Andrew, who'd made shadow puppets to comfort a terrified and angry little mage apprentice whose parents had just been killed by a bunch of Orlesian Templars…

"Hey there, careful!" She crashed right into a scratched breastplate, behind which was a powerfully built young man with broad shoulders, light grey eyes, and curly brown hair. At his narrow waist, he wore a sword, much like what a standard Fereldan soldier would wear, while on his back was a shield most usually borne by Templars.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I wasn't watching where I was going."

"You're all right," he said. "Or are you? That was quite a hard bump."

"I'm not that delicate, Ser," she said with a smile.

"No, I daresay you're not," mused the man. "I've not seen you here before. Are you new?"

Who was this man who seemed to think he ought to know every middling refugee in the Crossroads?

"Herald, there you are," said a stern woman in Chantry livery. Her accent was Nevarran, and she had a scar on her face. "We must not tarry. The rebel mages are encroaching on our boundaries and each day they have hold on the Witchwood is another day when supplies cannot come through to the people here."

Herald? _Herald of Andraste_.

"Excuse me," said Andrew. "But are you… Inquisition?"

Oh Creators and Maker above! He really was going to do it like this!

"And you are a Templar," said the stern woman.

"Was. Had been. Before," said Andrew.

"Smooth," said the young man. The Herald. He raised an eyebrow at Sibby. "You're not a Templar too, are you? I have a thing about them. They're always trying to recruit me." He made an exaggerated face of disgust.

The stern woman rolled her eyes. "That is definitely not a Templar. Just a civilian."

"Yeah, civilian. That's me," said Sibby quickly.

"Cassandra, surely a Seeker would know a mage when she sees one?" said the languid voice of the elven mage, who was leaning on his staff and watching the entire proceeding with distracted interest.

"What? Mage? Me? Baseless accusations if I ever heard any."

"Are you not?" asked the mage. The seeker, Cassandra, frowned.

"I've never cast a spell in my entire life," Sibby declared.

"That's almost true," said Andrew.

Traitor.

"Peace," said the elven mage who'd started all of this. "There is no need for concern if you mean no harm."

"We're just getting supplies, weren't we, Andrew?" said Sibby. She tugged on her friend's arm. The sooner they got out of here, the better. She didn't like the look of that Seeker. Or that Herald.

"So soon? But we only just met," said the Herald. "I don't even know your name, Miss…?"

"Beaumar," Andrew supplied. "And I am Andrew Collins, formerly of Kinloch Hold."

"Say, didn't Commander Rutherford come from Kinloch, Seeker Cassandra?"

Cullen? Crazy Cullen Rutherford, who lost the plot and almost killed Mervyn for trying to set his pants on fire? He's a commander now? Somebody was mad to give him that job. Then again, the Inquisition was basically a faith militant. They all had to be a little bit mad. Still, the man they called the Herald seemed quite charming and perfectly normal, save for the mark he supposedly bore. He wore gloves so she couldn't really see it.

"He did," said Andrew, before Sibby could say anything. "We were friends. He'll vouch for us. We've a group of us, mages and Templars who just didn't think there was anything very clever about fighting each other. We're running low on… just about everything,really."

"You don't have to tell them all our secrets," hissed Sibby.

"They're friends," said Andrew. "I mean, you are, aren't you?"

Cassandra pursed her lips and gave them a lookover, as if she was considering a particularly distasteful purchase.

"Of course we're friends," said the Herald. He held out his arms wide and gave them a grin that showed off his impressively white and straight teeth. Maker, he was beautiful.

"You're not so bad yourself, Miss Beaumar," said the Herald.

Did she say that out loud?

Cassandra made a disgusted noise.

"It occurs to me I haven't properly introduced myself," the Herald continued as if nothing untoward had happened. "Alexander Marcus Maxmillian Cassius Trevelyan, fourth son of Bann Maxmillian Marcus Cassius Alexander Trevelyan of Ostwick, at your service. My friends call me Alex. Most get lost by the time I get to my third middle name. I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Ser Collins, Miss Beaumar, and would love it if you could join us at our stronghold at Haven, where we have supplies. Some."

"Do you just talk demons to death?" asked Sibby.

"I believe I haven't tried that one yet," said Alex.

"You could give it a go, Charming," said a dwarf who approached them with a sack that looked to be full of weaponry parts. "You'd probably win every battle without a scratch."

"Says the dwarf who likes to dominate every conversation and spins the most extraordinary tales."

The dwarf gave a low, almost mocking bow. "I live to entertain," he said. "Varric Tethras at your service."

"You wrote Swords and Shields!" Sibby blurted out before she could help herself.

"That serial? Somebody reads that?" The dwarf looked almost aghast. "Huh. Well, I'll be damned."

"It was one of the few novels we were allowed in the Circle," said Sibby, blushing. "The Chantry approved it as being harmless."

Cassandra snorted.

"Maker, please don't remind me of the romantic tripe that was available in the Circle library," groaned Andrew. "I thought it would be about adventure, considering the number of weapons mentioned in the title."

"I assure you, there are much better books in Haven," said Trevelyan. "We even have the entire collection of Hard in Hightown, signed."

"I guess that settles it," said Andrew. "Food, supplies, entertainment, excellent company; you offer an irresistible deal, Herald. We will consult with the others but I am willing to wager money I don't have that we'll be in Haven by the end of the week."

* * *

Dear Diary,

Haven is an icy dump at the arse end of the world, not at all what its name implies. But I guess we're safe here and we've a roof over our heads. Well, some semblance of a roof. They have non-leaking tents at the Inquisition. Still, despite the simple conditions that we're living in, it's still better than staying in the Hinterlands.

I've been assigned to the healers' division, working for an apothecary named Adan. I like him. He's gruff but straight and he doesn't abide by any kind of fluffy nonsense. We work well together. I'm better at sutures than I am at potions and poultices and, to be honest, we need a few more surgeons anyway, with all those warriors who are coming back wounded from the fighting.

Andrew and the others are back in their best form, having gotten enough good quality lyrium. I'm glad, because for a moment there I really was worried. I don't live with them anymore. The men have their own barracks. I suppose they don't really want the sexes fraternizing too much when there's serious work to be done. Also, mages and Templars don't exactly make for the best roommates. I'm sharing a tent with an apprentice from Starkhaven called Minaeve and Florence. Minaeve is a researcher for the Inquisition and she's helping me develop the tincture to make it more effective. I know, from experience, that Erik will only get worse. He seems all right for now, though. I'm not going to question small blessings.

Oops, I shouldn't be writing. Adan's shouting at me for shirking my duties.


	2. Chapter 2

The infirmary hummed and buzzed with the sounds of the wounded and the comforting words of the healers. Sibby's pestle grated rhythmically against her mortar as she ground elfroot into paste. The smell of blood and medicine permeated every thread and every pore, so much so that she had ceased to notice it. The other healers, mages and Chantry sisters alike, tended to the patients, sitting by their beds, speaking with them in soothing tones. She had no such consolations to give. Everyone always said she was too blunt, and she was more likely than not to blurt out a less than optimistic prognosis. So she spent her time more wisely, mixing new tinctures and poultices so they would be ready.

Pale winter sunlight shone through the lattices of the stained glass windows, casting reds and golds and greens onto the faces of the sleeping patients and the healers that tended to them. It was peaceful — or as peaceful as it could be when someone could always die any minute. In one corner, Adan was holding a furious, rather one-sided discussion with Ambassador Montilyet about supplies, while Mother Giselle tried to calm him down.

All of a sudden there was a great deal of fuss at the other end and the Herald ducked into the infirmary, cradling his arm. He seemed almost too large for the cramped space they had been allotted in one of the chantry's side chambers. "My lord," said Adan curtly. "What can we do for you?"

Some of the female healers huddled about, whispering to each other. Alexander gave them a brief smile, making them giggle most unprofessionally.

"I was wondering if one of your healers might take a look at this," he said, indicating his sword arm. "I'd thought that it would be all right, but…" He shrugged.

"Sybille, get in here," snapped Adan, jerking his head at the Herald. Out of all of them, he was one of the only people in the entirety of the village who didn't see him as being anything special and treated him the way he treated everyone else — with curt, no nonsense impatience.

Sibby left her work to lead him over to an empty station. Alexander's eyes crinkled as he smiled. "I hope you're finding Haven to your liking, Miss Beaumar," he said.

"It's an icy dump, but thank you for having us," Sibby replied. "It was the least of all evils."

"I'm hurt," said the Herald. "Do you think so little of us?"

" _Haven_ is an icy dump, but you're all right."

"Huh. Only all right? Although you are correct and Haven is really an icy dump and I would love to be stationed somewhere warmer. However, it has been made much more pleasant by the exemplary company that has arrived recently."

"Do you make these compliments up in your spare time and dole them out as you see fit?"

"Oh, no. That was simply inspired in the spur of the moment. You can credit yourself with that."

Sibby shook her head. Shouldn't the Herald of Andraste be more serious? But, no, Alexander Trevelyan flirted with anything that had legs. She shouldn't be flattered, really, even if his words and presence did warm her from the core outwards with no rational explanation. She wished he weren't _quite_ so handsome. That way she would be less inclined to be silly. Not that he could actually be interested in her. He could practically have any woman he wanted at Haven, if he so wished, and some of the men too. Perhaps with the exception of Seeker Pentaghast and Sister Nightingale. Both were quite immune to his charms.

"Let's take a look at that arm," she said. He placed his arm on the table and she slowly unwrapped the dirty makeshift bandages around it. Blood and discharge had seeped through the linen, staining it red and brown and yellow, and the unmistakable scent of charred flesh and rot emanated from the wound.

"What happened?" she asked. She peeled back the last layer, and Alexander winced. "Herald, this is terrible."

"I thought it would be all right, seeing as it was a fire bolt that did it," he said.

"You should have gone to a healer immediately!"

"I didn't want to make a fuss, Miss Beaumar. Like you're making one now."

"I should smack you up the head for your stupidity. Now it's going to be twice as hard to heal, and you will, at the very least, get a scar."

"Proof of my battle prowess?"

"Proof that you're an idiot."

She plucked several jars off the shelves and dumped a few drops of their contents into a copper basin, which she then filled with hot water. The scent of pungent medicinal oils rose through the air. Alexander sucked in a breath through his teeth as she started to clean the burn, which had gone deep into his flesh. The edges of the wound had gone grey and dead, but from the looks of it, the infection had not yet spread so far that the arm was beyond saving. A couple more days and the story would have been quite different. She offered him a little tincture of poppy diluted in water, which he took without question, completely trusting her, which caught her off guard. Was he not afraid that she could poison him?

He looked away and clenched his teeth as she worked on his wound, cutting away the rotted flesh and then sewing the edges together with sure, quick sutures before applying a poultice of elfroot and embrium which was bound to ward off any other infection. Then she forced a potion down his throat. Solas himself had made that. It was almost good enough to bring back the dead.

"There," she said as she finished tying off the ends of his bandage and he finished gagging. "Come back in six hours to get the poultice changed. You'll have a scar, but no muscle damage at least. Next time, don't wait a week. Burns are nasty."

"Yes, Mistress," he said meekly. "Although, what excuse would I use to see you next time?"

* * *

My darling Alex,

We are all absolutely delighted to hear that you are alive. When news of what happened at the Conclave first reached me, your father and I feared the worst. Then we heard about the young Herald of Andraste and we thought, surely not, but it's true! It's you! We are so proud of you, even though your father won't openly admit it. You know how he is. I always knew you would be a great man. I always knew you would all be great men, no matter what path you pursue. I don't believe a single word of what those clerics are saying about you and the Inquisition. How dare they even _imply_ that you are lying! If I ever hear anyone saying anything, you mark my words, I will let them know a piece of my mind!

What a shame you have to stay in the Frostbacks. Shouldn't an organisation like the Inquisition be setting up some place more civilised? I'm not saying you need to be in the Free Marches, but Val Royeaux, or even _Denerim_ would be a much more suitable place. How is anyone even supposed to come and visit the Herald of Andraste when he's out in the middle of nowhere? It seems most unwise.

Elaine is very eager to come and see you, regardless of how cold the Frostbacks are this time of year. Please do let us know when would be suitable for a visit. We all miss you very much. Little Horatio was asking about you the other day. I'm pretty sure he was asking about you, since he kept pointing to your portrait.

So sorry to hear about cousin Hypatia, but, to be quite frank with you, nobody really liked her anyway. She was always so much 'holier than thou'. But one should not speak ill of the dead, even if no one misses them.

Love,  
Mother

* * *

 _Dear Mother,_

 _Now really isn_ _'t a good time to come to Haven. Please don't come. I assure you, you wouldn't enjoy it very much. It's cold and there are soldiers everywhere, and not a sign of civilisation in sight. We don't even have bathtubs, I swear to the Maker. Please tell Elaine that she would be much better off staying in Ostwick. Now that the circles have all fallen, everyone else thinks every mage is an apostate. The roads are full of demons._

 _I cannot tell you more, but I promise I will write again soon. Please give my love to Father, Maxentian, Cassius, Godfrey, Elaine, Horatio, Lucia, etc., etc._

 _Love,  
Alex_

* * *

 _Sister Leliana,_

 _I might have told my mother not to visit because we have no bathtubs in Haven. I know this is blatantly not true, but just in case she sends a scathing letter upbraiding the Inquisition for a lack of hygiene amenities (she is very protective of me), please do intercept any and all missives out of Ostwick. I very much dislike the notion that such a letter might find its way to Seeker Pentaghast or, worse, Ambassador Montilyet._

 _I am in your debt._

 _Herald (crossed out)  
Lord (crossed out)  
Alexander Trevelyan_

 _P.S. I may also have told her not to let my sister come to Haven because the roads are full of demons._

* * *

Lord Trevelyan,

I will take your suggestion under advisement. Might I also suggest that you craft better lies in the future?

Sister Leliana

* * *

 _Sister Leliana,_

 _I panicked, all right?_

 _Alexander Trevelyan_

* * *

Dearest Alex,

No bathtubs?! Why, that is appalling! I suppose it would be rather difficult to have some sent to you, given the demon-infested roads. I do hope you will look after yourself as best as you can.

I know you are very busy now, slaying demons and dragons and all sorts of terrible things, and I am really proud of the work you do, but if you have a moment, could you please write to your sister? She has gotten it into her head that she is not interested in marrying. And I have to wonder, since she is no longer in the Circle, what _else_ is she going to do with her life? Who will look after her when your father and I are both dead and gone? She's always been fonder of you than of anybody else and, despite her wilfulness, I think she will listen to you. I have found her the perfect match with one of our cousins in Starkhaven. He is a delightful man of few words and a vast fortune made from trade. And I think I may have found a young lady who would be just perfect for you. It is much easier to find eager young heiresses now that you are famous, or infamous, as some might say.

I'm sending you my kisses and prayers, and enclosed is a portrait of the young lady.

Lots of love,  
Mother

* * *

Lord Trevelyan,

Shall I endeavour to find out more about Lady Rosalind Kellington?

Sister Leliana

* * *

 _Sister Leliana,_

 _Cease and desist. Ignore. Don_ _'t read letters not meant for your eyes. It's rude._

 _Alexander_

* * *

 _Dearest_ Alexander,

It's my duty to read letters not meant for my eyes. She is surprisingly pretty for a Kellington, I must say. The family is quite rich, quite mad, and have married cousins for generations.

Sister Leliana

* * *

Leliana,

I said _no_.

Alexander

* * *

Leliana,

Lord Seeker Lambert rejected our proposal. Herald has been approached by Mage rebels. Suspect that may be our only option.

Cassandra

* * *

Dear Diary,

Am I petty for being angry at someone even though they're probably no longer the person they had once been? I keep on thinking that I am justified, and then the next moment, I don't think I am. Feelings are such confusing things.

Cullen came by to visit some of the injured soldiers that we have under observation. As a side note, stay out of the way of terror claws, although they might make for decent weapons if anyone can actually get their hands on a set that doesn't dissipate as soon as the demon is dead. They burn through flesh like nothing else, ripping through steel chainmail as though it were tissue paper. We've lost quite a few warriors to them. Luckily, terrors are rare and one is much more likely to bump into a shade or a wisp. Still nasty, but not quite so terrible, according to the soldiers I've bandaged and sewn up. On the plus side, terror claws cauterize wounds so if your wound is not fatal, you're unlikely to bleed out on the way to medical aid.

But I digress. The Commander is apparently a people person and visits wounded soldiers. They seem to adore him. It's the first time I've been in the same room with him since we were all recruited. He didn't recognize me, but I just stiffened even though I tried to remain professional. Ultimately, maybe he was right about Merv because _he_ abandoned us to join the rebels the first chance he got, and nobody's heard from him since, but I can't help but remember the look in his eyes that day when he attacked a harmless apprentice. One could say Templars like Cullen are part of the reason why so many mages went mad. How can I forget the horror stories that came out of Kirkwall? Varric has alluded to it in his _Tale of the Champion_. Why else would Anders have gone so far? He had been angry even when in Kinloch, but I've never known him to harm innocents before. He was always more for words. It was Cullen and his Knight Commander who'd driven him to such drastic action. That had to be the only reason.

Andrew says I'm being too "judgey and grudgey". He says Cullen is no longer that same man who left Kinloch, and not the same man who once stood by while the Templars in Kirkwall perpetrated atrocity upon atrocity on the mages in the Gallows. He does seem different; graver, calmer. But he still did all those things. Surely something of that man remains. I couldn't bear to look at him when he came to see the men and busied myself pretending to sort potion bottles. He commended me on the work I was doing for the soldiers and the evenness of my sutures. He was so good with the men, and so polite to me.

Then he asked me my name and where I was from. I told him. I have nothing to hide. He started and almost lurched backwards in his surprise. "Sybille?" he said. "I… It has been very many years. I had not thought… I'm –I'm glad you're alive."

To be honest, I wasn't sure what I was expecting. That he would show his dark side in front of all his men? He's crazy, not stupid. Maybe he is being genuine, but how can I tell? "As am I," I said. I was very diplomatic. He looked as though he wanted to say more, but someone called him away with an urgent report of new demon rifts being opened.

Anyway, enough about Crazy Cullen. I can be professional. We work together, that is all. I mean, we were friends once, so I suppose I'll give him a chance. Still, I can't really believe this is the boy who was pining over Sol so badly that the entire Tower could see it, except Solona herself. Speaking of Solona, I haven't heard from her in a while. Last time she wrote, she was headed to Tevinter, seeking a cure for the taint, but that was months ago. Of course, she could have dispatched someone to Kinloch and they would have found nothing. She would probably know what to do about this breach thing. Maybe Sister Nightingale could find her? If anyone could find someone in the teeming masses of the Imperium, it would be her, right?

* * *

Dear Diary,

The Herald, Alex, came by to pick up some new potions. He's setting off again, back to Redcliffe, to deal with the new rifts and to try and make contact with the rebel mages because the Templars rebuffed him in Val Royeaux. Apparently the rogue Templars marched off to Maker knows where and one even punched a grand cleric! I might have failed at not smirking. "It's really not a laughing matter, Miss Beaumar," he said. "Even though I have also wanted to punch a grand cleric a couple of times. It is not to be commended." Then he grinned and leaned in close to me. "I thought that right hook quite well deserved. Don't tell Cassandra I said that."

"I promise," I told him. It's not like I'm ever going to get to talk to Seeker Pentaghast. That woman has a storm for a face and she's deadly with any weapon she picks up. I've been watching her and I think I could learn a couple of things. I need to get someone to teach me how to use a sword properly. It's only now that I've seen real fighting that I realize, while I might have some talent in that department, I desperately need training.

* * *

Sybille,

What's this about you trying to steal a sword?

Adan

* * *

Adan,

I wasn't stealing the sword. I was borrowing it without permission but with every intention of returning it before anyone noticed. If I'm to be any good as a field surgeon, I must know how to defend myself.

Sybille

* * *

Sybille,

You are a mage and you have been issued a staff.

Adan

* * *

Commander,

One of the mages, a Sybille Beaumar, tried to exchange her staff for a sword and a bow. I thought you should know.

Quartermaster Threnn

* * *

Quartermaster,

Thank you for letting me know. I shall deal with the matter.

Commander Cullen Rutherford


	3. Chapter 3

Dear Diary,

All right, so Cullen is being super understanding about this whole learning-to-fight-with-a-sword business. I can almost forgive him all his previous douchebaggery because he's the only person who's not judging me for not being able to do any magic despite being a mage.

He came to see me this morning and told me that the Templar Lysette would be happy to take me on as one of her recruits if I really wanted to train with standard weaponry. "I remember how you struggled with magic," he said. As if he hadn't almost pissed himself laughing at me that one time when I was trying to make a spark with my staff and Andrew said I looked like I was trying and failing to do a number two. I won, though, because I put pondweed on his chair. He had a wet patch on his arse for his next patrol.

Anyway, I'm now one of the Inquisition's newest field surgeons, not deployable yet, but I have both a short sword and a recurve bow. They really need to standardise the equipment. Papa would frown at all these weapons that look scavenged. They probably have been, to be honest.

Adan is very disapproving of what I'm trying to do. "Healers should not be killers," he growled at me when I showed up for work still clad in armour. It's really heavy – heavier than I thought it would be, and it's considered 'light armour'. I need to get used to the weight. From now on, I think I will wear it even when not training until I can move in it as effortlessly as Alex and Cassandra can.

* * *

Alex,

So you told Mother that you're far too busy slaying demons to deal with me, yet you're attending parties in Ghislain? With _the_ Madame de Fer? I'm really quite angry at you. Now that you're the high and mighty Herald of Andraste, you don't have time for your little sister anymore, is that what it is?

Elaine

* * *

 _Lainey,_

 _Please don_ _'t be angry. I didn't leave you out of the party on purpose, I swear. It was Inquisition business. If the invitation had not been quite so sudden, I might have brought you along. But the messenger literally pounced on me in Val Royeaux while I was investigating something else. You're really much better off in Ostwick. We've been eating nug jerky and waybread for the past week, and sleeping on stones, that sort of thing. You'd hate it._

 _Next time there_ _'s a party, I promise I_ will _bring you._

 _And I think you_ _'re perfectly right in rejecting that cousin from Starkhaven._

 _Love,  
Alex_

* * *

Alexander Marcus Maxmillian Cassius Trevelyan,

What nonsense have you been filling your sister's head with? She is _insistent_ she would rather become a Chantry sister than marry Lord Guido Chathill, and now I fear Lord Guido will not have her! You _must_ make her marry him, or she will be destitute after we're gone!

Mother

* * *

Alexander,

Guido Chathill is a swindler, cheat, forger, and I have it on good information that he has murdered several of his business rivals. That has made him rich. What do you think of blood money?

Sister Leliana

* * *

 _Sister Leliana,_

 _Let me preface this by saying that_ I am not a bad person _, I don_ _'t think, but we need that money. Last time we needed to fix our equipment on the road, we had to loot several corpses and a Templar cache before we could afford it. If we can get money, regardless of the source, that's a good thing._

 _Alexander_

* * *

Leliana,

I am uncomfortable with the idea of using this money when it should be given back to the people it has been taken from.

Cullen

* * *

Commander,

Sometimes one must do a little evil in order to do a greater good. Moreover, the previous owners of that money are now either dead or unidentified.

Sister Leliana

* * *

Commander,

We can hardly afford the luxury of being morally superior when we cannot supply our forces with the necessary equipment. The Maker will understand. Or, if he doesn't, he is not the Maker, and we need not worry.

Alexander Trevelyan, Herald of Andraste

* * *

Leliana,

I was so sure Commander Rutherford was going to faint from shock when he read the Herald's note. For a moment, I was afraid we might have had to make a new appointment to the position.

Josephine

* * *

Josie,

You worry too much. Cullen will come around. I was rather more struck by the soundness of the Herald's grasp on theological matters. He may not be quite so innocent and spoiled as we had originally thought.

L

* * *

Leliana,

Alexander does seem to bear the mantle of authority well. Still, it is too early to discern his character. I shall reserve my judgement.

Josephine.

* * *

Josie,

Make no mistake; I always knew he was a pampered, spoiled little lordling, but he has shown potential and an eagerness to learn. And that easy charm will come in useful. Half the camp is in love with him already.

L

* * *

Leliana,

It has not escaped my notice. Still, you cannot deny that he is a fine figure of a man.

Josephine.

* * *

Josie,

Careful, now. You're showing your hand.

L

* * *

Dear Diary,

The elf called Sera is trying to one up me all the time. And dammit, she's succeeding because nine times out of ten, she hits the bullseye while I can only do it half the time. I hate her. She's always making fun of me for being a mage and not doing magic even though she hates magic and therefore mages because of magic. She makes no sense and she thinks she knows everything worth knowing. Grrr. But she's the Herald's newest recruit into the inner circle, so I must be diplomatic and hold my tongue.

Where did she even come from? They say Alex picked her up in Val Royeaux. She seems the most unlikely candidate to join the Inquisition. All she cares about is having fun and getting "the coins flowing" again. Alex finds her amusing though and laughs at every joke. I wonder if he's trying to flirt with her? He came by to watch us practise and told me I was doing well. He's got such a nice smile that I didn't know what to say and just made some sounds that approximated words. He's grown a beard during his time away, and I didn't ever think he could look any better.

Gah, this is so stupid! So he's a handsome man. So what? I'm no blushing virgin! I will not talk about him anymore.

Erik seems to be doing a bit better. Solas helped me refine the spindleweed-elfroot tincture and we added some Royal Elfroot that he found in some crevice high up in the hills near Redcliffe. He's an odd one. At first, he seems cold, but once you get to know him, he's actually very kind in a subtle and serious way. I don't understand his Fade talk at all and he's awfully well-read, although he doesn't rub his education in your face like some people. Alex has brought _the_ Madame de Fer back to Haven. He picks up the oddest characters.

* * *

Dear Diary,

Today I finally beat Corporal Lysette in sparring! I suspect she was going a little easy on me because I haven't been winning, and she doesn't want me to be discouraged. I think the Templars think they've won something over the mages just because I sort of switched sides and chose swords over staves. That, and she was a bit distracted because the Herald was training in the practise yard next to us, in his shirt sleeves, with half the buttons undone, facing off against Cullen. I myself was briefly distracted too and half the women in Haven seemed to have forgotten what they were supposed to be doing.

Alex is good and very good looking and he knows it. He's got a healed cut on his cheekbone which makes him less of a dandy and his dark brown hair is always so artfully tousled.

To be fair, Cullen wasn't looking too shabby himself. Out of his usual ceremonial armour and that dyed red pelt that he likes to wear over it, he seemed younger. He's leaner than I remember, and more powerful. And this afternoon, he was giving the herald a run for his money.

I won't lie. I turned my back on them deliberately. If there's one thing I know about men, it's that they get too satisfied when they know that women admire them and I wasn't about to give them that. Also, I needed to win. Lysette had the full view. That was how I got my sword to her throat. She was very gracious and a little embarrassed, although she tried to hide it. "Well played," she said. I might have whooped and done a little dance, which distracted Cullen, and Alex kicked sand at his face. Cullen brought his shield up to block the spray of grit just in time but he wasn't prepared for the follow through. Alex swiped at his legs and forced him to take up a defensive stance on the back foot. Sensing he was near victory, the Herald lunged to try and slam the edge of his shield at Cullen. For a moment, I thought he wasn't playing. At the last minute, Cullen suddenly feinted to the side and Alex lost his balance. Cullen slammed his pommel into Alex's back and sent him stumbling forward, and finished him off with a shield to the back which downed the Herald of Andraste well and good.

"You're too eager, Trevelyan," said Cullen as he offered the Herald his hand to pull him up. Alex spat out some sand and tried to dust himself off. Cullen was continuing with his lecture. He'd gotten into that 'training mode' of his. "Your intentions are so clearly shown that your opponent can predict exactly what you are going to do next."

"I wasn't the one who got distracted by pretty women, Commander," said Alex, who can somehow make 'bruised and covered with dirt' attractive. And, Andraste's tits, he winked at me. I'm pretty sure it was me he was winking at. Although most of the women who were watching were behind me, so it could have been for all of us. What am I saying? It's one wink from a man who will flirt with a Chantry Mother while talking about healing salves.

Cullen blushed from his face down to his collarbone, and then some. HE turned to Lysette immediately and asked for a report on the recruits' progress. I slipped away then, only to have the Herald catch up with me.

"I wouldn't have expected a mage to be so proficient with one of those," he said, indicating my practise sword and shield.

"I find sticking sharp things in people much more reassuring than casting a spell that could very well misfire," I said. I'm sure I was that eloquent. I mean, I am not at all affected by the Herald. Not one bit.

"You're not wrong, although one could argue that magic has many more applications," he said.

"The beauty of a sword is that any idiot can use one," I retorted.

"Are you calling me an idiot?"

"I thought we'd already established that as fact," I said. He laughed and, Maker's balls, I want to make him do that again.

* * *

Herald,

We have received concerning news regarding our soldiers in the Fallow Mire. They were on a reconnaissance mission when they were taken by a local Avvar tribe. Their chief demands that you answer to your false claims and duel him to the death. This is a most dire situation. I would not advise that you actually duel him. You are too indispensable. However, we cannot abandon our soldiers in the swamps either. How will you answer?

Commander Cullen Rutherford

* * *

Commander,

Who the fuck has our soldiers in where the fuck now? I thought the Avvar were extinct!

Look, I'm in the middle of a delicate situation at the moment. Something to do with someone who has something to do with the rebel mages who seem to have forgotten that they'd even approached the Inquisition in the first place. Leliana has all the details. The long short of it is that I can't extricate myself right now. Can you handle this?

Alexander Trevelyan, Herald of Andraste.

* * *

Herald,

Be as swift as you can. The lives of our men are at stake and we cannot afford to be seen to have abandoned them. I will send men ahead to secure the area as well as we can. There have been reports of Fade rifts and undead. I will meet you there.

Cullen Rutherford

* * *

Dear Diary,

I have been reassigned and deployed! When I told Adan, all he said was "humph". I think he's secretly proud of me, though. I'm proud. I've made so much progress! Even Erik said he was pleased for me. From him, that's the equivalent of "I love you". I've asked Minaeve from the research team to mix him up his tincture while I'm gone. I don't think Adan will neglect him but he's so busy. Minaeve is meticulous and she'll never forget. Also, I think she has a thing for Andrew and will use any excuse to go to the Templar barracks to visit him.

Tomorrow, we're setting off for the Fallow Mire, which is a swamp somewhere in Ferelden. I didn't know Ferelden had swamps. Then again, I haven't really travelled much. Lysette said the high and mighty Commander Cullen Rutherford personally requested me. Something about a certainty of injuries and the need for capable field surgeons.

I should go to bed. It's an early start tomorrow and my candle's burning low.

* * *

Alexander Marcus Maxmillian Cassius Trevelyan,

Have you been ignoring my letters? And after you've put all those silly thoughts into your poor sister's head? Mind you, all of a sudden, Serah Guido seems to have made himself awfully scarce. Elaine is as happy as a clam about this. The silly girl doesn't hear half of what everyone else is saying behind her back.

Even Cousin Nevia is betrothed. Do you remember Nevia? She's the daughter of your father's second cousin twice removed. You two bathed together naked when you were one. I always said she was a bit on the plain side, and lately she is positively dumpy. If you ask me, the betrothal was a bit of a rushed affair. At least Bann Horen had the decency. Poor girl wouldn't really have a chance otherwise. The situation has given her a bit of a glow about her and she was oh so very pleased with herself the last time I saw her, which was the week before last, at your Great Aunt Eugenia's wake. She has no idea the pain and hoops her parents have had to jump through to get that ring on her finger.

I forgot to mention, Great Aunt Eugenia passed away, at the ripe old age of eighty six. She choked on a bit of devilled egg at Lord and Lady Grey's son's wedding reception. Do you remember Jonathan Grey? I wouldn't blame you if you didn't. You used to hide his stuffed druffalo up trees. It was a ghastly affair, not just the choking, mind. If you ask me, Great Aunt Eugenia could not have timed it better because I was almost ready to poke someone's eye out with a shellfish fork just so I could get out of there. Not that I _really_ would have done it. Your father would be so mortified.

The Greys have absolutely embraced the new-fangled Ferelden fashions. There were _dog_ motifs just literally _everywhere_ in their foyer. And they even had a _mabari_. How absolutely hideous and revolting. That thing slobbered all over my gown and ruined a lovely muslin with the latest flower print that cost two silvers a yard. The Greys swore it was intelligent. I suppose it could run House Grey without much of a problem. The thing spent most of the evening inhaling any food that was so much as left for a second unattended. The egg going down Eugenia's throat the wrong way really was a blessing in disguise. At least she was enjoying herself. She was eating those things by the dozen and still had a plate on her lap when she stopped breathing.

Anyway, it's a pity she was not more generous with her wealth. Her fiefdom yields ten thousand gold a year and she has left you a meagre fifty gold sovereigns. The rest has gone to all the other cousins. Elaine didn't even get any, on account of her being a mage. As if she isn't one of the worst mages who has ever lived. Why, I don't think she should even qualify. She is so delightfully unmagical. Perhaps you could speak to your new friends and have her declassified as a mage? It would make our lives so much easier.

As always, do take care of yourself, darling. I'm still angry at you but I'm sending along a scarf. It's bitterly cold up in the Frostbacks, or so I hear. Why anyone would want to be there is certainly beyond my imagination.

Love,

Mother

* * *

Herald,

Please find your mother's latest missive enclosed. There are five such others waiting but I thought the package too hefty for our messenger and they continue more or less in the same vein. I have also confiscated your scarf. And the other hat she sent you. And the mittens. They all match. The colours are hideous. The Herald of Andraste must look the part and never wear pom-poms.

Leliana

* * *

 _Sister Leliana,_

 _Have you read all my letters from my mother? Please send the five others back with the note: "Wrong address. Return to sender." I shall deal with this one when I return from this Maker-forsaken stinking marsh in the arse end of the world. Also, please return my scarf to my garderobe. I shall remove the pom-poms before wearing. My last scarf got ruined by demon ichor and I am in desperate need of a new one._

 _Alexander_


	4. Chapter 4

Dear Diary,

We have arrived in the Fallow Mire. Any excitement that might have existed at first has faded. Utterly. It is a mire, full of undead that still make absolutely no scientific sense because judging by the state of their bodies, the decomposition of the ligaments mean that their bones wouldn't even stay together if they tried to move. But they move. A lot. And they smell. A lot.

I'm beginning to think Cullen is punishing me for… something. I mean, why bring anyone out here? What use is this place to _anyone_? I'll bet if Orlais tries to retake Ferelden, this will be the one place that they'll leave to the Theirin crown.

So far, we've done nothing but make camp and secure the perimeters. And deal with the few people who still live in this shithole. Most of them are ill or injured or both. I'm so convinced that I'll catch the plague. Ambassador Montilyet wants _samples_ of the bodies so the healers in Val Royeaux can identify the strain and create an antidote. I rather hope they can do that before we all die of disease.

* * *

Herald,

Please find the map of the mire enclosed. It has been drawn to the best capabilities of our scouts. Stay out of the water if you do not wish to contend with the undead. Do _not_ venture out alone. Aside from the undead, we do not know what other dangers lie out there.

 **(A map drawn by many different hands and stitched together from several pieces of parchment is included)**

Commander Cullen Rutherford

* * *

 _Commander,_

 _Thank you for the map and the concern. I do not need to be babysat. Send me the surgeon. I'm sure she'll come in useful._

 _Alexander Trevelyan, Herald of Andraste_

* * *

Herald,

The entire point of this plan was so you would have no need of a surgeon.

Commander Cullen Rutherford of the Inquisition

* * *

Commander Rutherford,

Is it absolutely necessary that you attend to the matter of the missing soldiers along with the Herald? I must admit that such a great concentration of the Inquisition's leadership in one place concerns me greatly. Surely it is enough that Lord Trevelyan is in the Mire working for the retrieval of our people?

Ambassador Josephine Montilyet.

* * *

Ambassador Montilyet,

As the commander of the Inquistion's forces, it is my duty to see to the welfare of my people. How can I ask them to risk their lives at my command if I do not prove to them that I have their welfare at heart? I have every faith in the abilities of my colleagues to administer to the day to day running of the army.

Commander Cullen Rutherford

* * *

Dear Diary,

Everyone in camp is uncomfortable. Cullen and Alex are arguing inside the command tent, but they forget that there's not much out here in the way of background noise, and the tent walls are thin. Both of them are throwing about their titles, trying to intimidate the other to get his own way. Why don't they give up all pretences of civility and just get out their cocks and measure them? That's all it is, really.

Alex wants a "quickie". In and out. He can take on the Avvar, get the soldiers, and they're done. I wonder if that's how he is in bed? Would be a little anticlimactic after all the dirty talk about him in the girls' dormitories. Not that I think about the Herald in that way at all. Like not at all.

Cullen is advising caution. I suppose you can call that foreplay, haha. I hope he never reads this because he would be so embarrassed! Yeah, no, I'm not at my best. It's this incessant rain and the smell and the occasional incursion of shambling corpses that we have to kill, and their gunk gets _everywhere_. Why did I want to be a field surgeon again? I've stitched up several wounds, pounded herbs until my hands were numb. I'm not going to lie. The Mire might stink but it has some good elfroot and spindleweed. That's probably the only good thing about it.

There's a Grey Warden accompanying the Herald. Blackwall. He doesn't seem like any Grey Warden I've ever met. Mind you, I've only met Sol and King Alistair, and they're both much younger than Blackwall. He watches everything and pretends he knows less than he actually does. Could be good news. Could be bad news. Not my call.

At least Sera is as miserable as I am. She also complains louder. To be fair, all her complaints _are_ legitimate, except when she blames abso-fucking-lutely everything on mages. Solas just speaks Elvhen to her. She doesn't understand. I'm sure he's saying rude things, which is unlike him, but she is enough to drive _anyone_ over the edge with her illogicity.

I think I'm going to practise sparring. At least it will warm me up.

* * *

Dear Diary,

I am _sooo_ sore. The Grey Warden Blackwall saw me practise and insisted on giving me pointers. Then he kind of drilled me like I was one of his warden recruits until I could hardly lift my arm, let alone my sword. He's _really_ good though. Better than Alex, I would wager.

This is not the best way to start off a long day's march towards the Avvar keep, through hordes and hordes of undead. The roads are all broken and muddy and all the houses on the way are abandoned or filled with plague bodies. They're just lying there, rotting in the water or on the ground, and occasionally they'll just _wake up_ and start attacking everything that moves.

I saw a bogfisher early this morning and I wanted to make a quick sketch of it because it looked absolutely fascinating, with a snout like a pig and needle-like teeth for grabbing onto slippery prey. I've never seen anything like it! But Cullen frowned when I slowed down. Brutish man. He probably doesn't get science. It's not like the Templar Order has ever been fond of explaining anything, not even natural phenomena. If he had his way, I'd probably only ever draw pious Andraste pictures and recite verses of the Chant of Light. Anyway, I've memorised what the creature looks like. Bogfisher, not Templar. Although the Templar is infuriatingly memorable. It's strangely adorable, like a vicious looking aquatic pig. Again, bogfisher, not Templar.

 **(Below is a rough sketch of a Bogfisher)**

Anyway, the plan is for the Herald (and all the rest of us) to march up to the Avvar keep and, while he's distracting the Avvar with the rest of his inner circle of warriors and mages, us common soldiers (and surgeons) will search for the soldiers and let them out. It's a pretty crap plan considering we don't know the lay of the land at all, and nobody has any clue where the soldiers are being kept, but it's the only one we've got. And Alex is not perturbed. I secretly think he enjoys the adventure and making things up as he goes along.

* * *

Dear Diary,

It's late, and everyone is asleep. Except me, obviously. I can't stop thinking about what happened. It could have all gone so wrong. I barely knew what I was doing. But we're home in Haven now and we are pretty sure that he'll live. At least, that's what Mother Giselle tells me. They wouldn't let me sit with him. Something about me needing rest, but I can't really rest even though I am bone tired. I can still smell it; his blood on my hands, the fetid scent of the marshes, and the wet old stone of the fortress. Never mind that we've been out of the mire for days.

I can't sleep until I write. It calms me down, helps me breathe. I don't know what I would have done if we hadn't succeeded. If he'd _died_. Maybe if I get it all out on paper, it'll be out of my head. I just can't help but wonder what could have happened if... I'll start from the beginning.

We spent two days on the road at a quick march, or as quick a march as was possible in the mud and through the swamp, with undead hindering us at every turn. We came to these stations, which had veilfire sconces. I only know because after I tried to light one with my tinderbox and it wouldn't take no matter what I tried, Solas explained that it was a magical sort of fire that gave light but not heat. In fact, when he did light it, everything went cold in that eerie blue-green light.

And out of the darkness emerged the shapes of the undead and the hulking gangly silhouettes of demons that we only know as terrors, for obvious reasons. Lured by the light, or perhaps even _summoned_ , they converged on us.

Our party quickly formed an outward facing circle, the mages in the centre, then archers (that meant me) and then the warriors on the very outside. I've fought demons before, in Kinloch, but never like this. The terrors' talons were as long as knives, translucent green and sharper than shattered glass. One swipe could easily disembowel a man. I couldn't describe their faces even if I tried. They seemed to be always warping, like the Fade itself, their eyes shifting down their faces, around their oversized four-jawed mouths full of sharp teeth with no purpose. Everyone knows that demons don't eat.

"Hold your ground, men!" Alex shouted. He was like a different person, commanding and regal. The shamblers were slow, but fearless. They didn't have enough awareness to be afraid. Sera and I never stopped shooting. We found our own rhythm and the air whistled with our arrows.

The terrors kept their distance, when all of a sudden one just disappeared into the ground and the next minute, the ground beneath our feet pushed upwards, sending us flying several feet into the air. It felt as if everything had slowed. Time, my reactions; everything. It all returned to normal when I fell. The hard landing drove the breath from my lungs. For a moment, I could barely remember who I was or where I was. You know those moments when you are simply existing, alive, aware of that fact but nothing else?

Suddenly this wrong green face loomed over me, eyes winking in and out of existence, teeth ever constant. It raised its talons to strike and I could not even move. I was just lying there like a useless log, ready to be carved up. I thought about Andrew first, then about Erik and how there will be no one to make sure he doesn't overexert himself. Then about Papa and Maman and how, maybe, I would see them again wherever it was that people were supposed to go when they died. I didn't even have time enough to register fear, just watching those talons slash down. Then he was there, his shield arm strong, the talon clanging and screeching as it struck and tore through the steel of his shield. It got stuck halfway through.

"Not today, you bastard!" Alex snarled as he threw himself between me and the demon. It jolted me into action. I scrambled to my feet. My bow had been flung far away. I drew my sword. Three shambling corpses were making their way behind Alex, who was preoccupied with the demon. Magic would have been useful at that moment. I couldn't even feel the slightest tingle in my fingers and at that moment I hated myself for my lack of ability. Sol would have known what to do. These demons wouldn't even have been a problem for her.

Solas sent a bolt of lightning arcing between the corpses shocking them into stumbling. Whatever passed for a central nervous system in them was fried and disorientated. I cut one from skull to sternum. Its rotted brains splattered all over me and I didn't even care, even though the stench was horrendous. The Herald and I fought back to back, him taunting the demon and me trying to keep everything away from him. I hacked and slashed with abandon, barely thinking about the forms that Lysette and Blackwall had drilled into me, but my muscles remembered them.

I won't lie. The only way I could describe that feeling was euphoric, like drinking too much lyrium and feeling that power and oneness with something greater than I am.

Only afterwards, when the demons were dead and the corpses were stilled, could I remember the many times I could have died. Alex turned to me. He said nothing but gave my shoulder a squeeze. His hand was large and warm through the wet fabric of my tunic.

"Not mad for a poo poo special magic sparklepants," Sera said with grudging admiration in her voice. "When that demon tossed you up, I thought you were done for. You're tougher than you look, I'll give you that." She handed me my bow back. It had been snapped in two. As I stood there staring at it, she quickly skipped off to help the Herald look through some old chests that had been left behind in a hurry.

"You fought well," Cullen said as he walked up behind me, making me jump with fright. "It's always difficult the first time."

"I've killed men before," I retorted. "And demons. In Kinloch." Then I felt bad because he physically flinched. I'd bitten his head off and he was just trying to be nice. But I can't get it out of my head, all he's done to people like me, just because we were born a certain way. But he's changed, hasn't he? I'm so confused and conflicted and Andrew wasn't there for me to talk to. Mind, he's been taking Cullen's side since the beginning so I can imagine what he would have said. I still think he just doesn't understand. He's not a mage, after all. It's easier for him to forget, and there's little to forgive. I just can't help thinking that he didn't stand up to his knight commander until it was too late. What would have happened to me if I had been one of the mages in Kirkwall's circle?

Still, my reaction was uncalled for and I knew it. I wanted to apologise but before I could find the words that wouldn't make me feel like a total git, he'd walked away, his red and black mantle sodden and his golden hair plastered to his head by rain. He looked so human and vulnerable, a battered shadow of the shy and idealistic young man I used to know.

That night we made camp next to the creepy beacon with a weird rune and I stitched up everyone. Alex got a bad gash on his shield arm which he tried to dismiss, but we could all see was paining him. I felt doubly bad because he got it while leaping to my defence. He flirted all the way while I stitched it up and put a poultice on it, making jokes about the quick ins and outs. Sera started to try and make a fire for cooking supper, but she couldn't get the wet kindling to light until Solas clicked his fingers. The others soon busied themselves with trying to make a semi-edible stew. Obviously they'd never heard the saying about too many cooks, and none of them could cook to begin with. Cullen went to pore over some maps, Blackwall set about burying the entrails of the slaughtered bogfisher, and it was just Alex and me.

"I just…" I said. "Thank you."

"Anytime," Alex replied. "Besides, with all the ugliness in the world, I couldn't let them take away something so beautiful, Miss Beaumar." My breath hitched in my throat. He cupped by face with his calloused hand and tried to wipe away a smudge of dirt on my cheek. Then he let go and pretended nothing happened, and was called away by Solas and Cullen to discuss the creepy rune. I mean, it meant nothing, right? The touch, not the rune. Alex flirts with everything that walks on two legs. Even his battle insults carry innuendo.

We continued for what seemed like days. While the beacons drew out the demons, we could at least be prepared for when they came. By the time we lit the fourth beacon, I was almost well versed in predicting where the demons might break ground. There's nothing like a bit of real life experience to hone one's skills.

When we finally came to the fortress, we were battle weary, soaked to the bone, and we all bore some wound or another. Cullen had an arrow wound to the shoulder that had me concerned, because who knew where those undead arrows had been? Infection was the greatest killer out here. He didn't complain, though, even though it must have pained him a great deal. Needless to say, we were not in a good shape.

The dead surrounded the fortress. The worst part was that they weren't the dead-dead but the undead. I could deal with corpses if they were still. It was the ones that moved that I had a problem with.

They were just wandering aimlessly about, dragging their rusting blades behind them. I wonder where they got them from anyway? Surely not everyone dies with a sword in hand, and I wouldn't have thought that regular villagers would own that many weapons.

"There's too many to kill," Cullen whispered.

"The gate's open," Alex whispered back. "Sera, do you think we could sneak past them?"

"That's a long way to sneak," Sera replied. She analyzed the scene for a bit. I didn't realize that she was capable of analytical thought. "I s'pose I could do it, but what's the point? And don't you even think about tryin' it, you in all your clanking armour. You'd wake the dead even if they weren't movin' about already."

"Fair point," said Alex. "That was a stupid idea." He glanced back at us, his grey eyes unfathomable pools of shadow in the deepening night (hah! Maybe I could rival Varric).

"They don't know we're here yet," said Blackwall. "If we make a dash for it, we might surprise them enough so they don't do any damage. Well, much. There's enough of us, like seagulls and baby sea turtles."

I'm sure I wasn't the only one gaping at him when he said that. Baby sea turtles?

He shrugged.

"Wot, a 'don't need to be fastest but just faster than the last person' sort of situation?" asked Sera.

"Got any better ideas?" asked Alex.

"That's not an idea. That's suicide!" hissed Cullen.

"Bags not it!" shouted Sera, and then she was off. I might have said something very nasty as I started to my feet and dashed after her towards the fortress' open gates. It wasn't until I was halfway there that I realized how stupid I was. The good thing about light armour was that I could still be fast. The bad thing was that it didn't offer that much protection and we had no idea what lay through those gates. With just the two of us, there was no back up. Also, there was no point in being 'not it' if we didn't have the Herald. He was the one the Avvar wanted to see.

But there was no stopping now. The corpses were starting to turn around to look for the source of the noise and movement with their eyeless sockets. They immediately focused on the armoured men running behind us. The noise they were making wasn't just enough to wake the dead, but probably call back the prophet Andraste from her divine sabbatical or whatever it was that she was having.

Lightning arced through the air. Let me just say that cooked corpse doesn't smell any better than raw corpse.

"Go go go go go!" Cullen shouted. Solas caught up to us, Alex right on his heels.

"Ladies first," he offered with a gallant flourish.

"I'm not your meat shield," Sera retorted. "You go first. You have an actual shield."

Alex gave a dramatic sigh and charged in. The dead started to turn their eyeless sockets to look at us. If I looked hard enough, I could almost imagine a spark in those dark rotten depths; a glow of magic that signified an unnatural life. I looked about wildly until I saw the lever, then I ran to it and pulled as hard as I could. The portcullis fell down, trapping the dead outside and the rest of us inside, and lifting another portcullis at the same time.

Celebrations were shortlived, however, as Avvar warriors burst out from the undergrowth and from behind stones, painted and glistening with rain. Sera fired arrow after arrow. I followed suit, although I wasn't so much as even trying to aim. It was more a case of trying to keep an arrow in the air at all times and hoping that I would hit something.

I've fought demons and seen men slain before, but the rawness of battle hits me every time. At least, when killing that which was already dead, one does not feel any guilt whatsoever. In that sense, fighting the undead is easier than fighting men.

Shield clashed against shield in a clang of steel and splintering wood as our soldiers pushed against the Avvar. Sera and I both climbed onto blocks of rubble. You might not get an ounce of sense out of her but she's a great shot, I'll give her that.

We fought through several gates, always with Alex leading the charge and Cullen bringing up the rear, cleaning up any messes the Herald left behind and making sure nobody could stab us in the back. It occurred to me then that Alex charged at whatever was in front of him and in his way, driving it back — or apart — with what seemed like sheer force of will. He never had any time to look behind. Or sideways. I guess that was what Cullen was there for; to pick up the pieces and clean up his messes.

The Avvar were bottlenecked in the narrow passages of the fortress, designed to make it difficult for a large force to invade. The flagstone floors were slick with mildew and moisture. Moss and slime flourished in the cracks, making our footfalls softer than expected. The leviathan of a fortress was crumbling. There were several points that looked particularly unstable and made me nervous. Dying while fighting was one thing; I didn't want to be the footnote in history crushed beneath a literal wall. Not that I was keen on the idea of dying anyway.

Our arrows and Solas' spells cut through the rank and file of the Avvar warriors as they converged on our ours. I focused on the archers on the walls, though the torrential rain and dark limited my visibility. My aim wasn't so good that I could risk letting fly an arrow into the melee and be certain that I wouldn't hit any of our folks. I'm still not certain I actually hit anyone or anything besides the wall.

The Avvar were fierce fighters but I could hear Papa's voice inside my head saying that they lacked discipline and every man and woman was fighting as a unit unto themselves, making them vulnerable to flanking and unable to respond to sudden changes in the environment. His voice in my head sounded strangely like Erik's, despite Erik being Fereldan through and through and my father was definitely Orlesian.

"Testudo!" Alex cried. Inquisition shields interlaced — not perfectly because so many of them carried ones that had been looted, salvaged or otherwise 'recovered' by the Inquisition. However, they moved as one as they had been taught by Cullen. Whatever my opinions of the man and his political stance might be, I know he's a good commander and he knows what he's doing with the men.

The Avvar threw themselves against the shield wall and broke like waves on an unassailable cliff, although in reality even the strongest rock would eventually be worn down, given enough time and water. They were impaled on Inquisition spears Nd blades thrust through the gaps between the shields. Step by step, our soldiers pushed forward. Bruised, bleeding, broken and suffering from the barrage of ice and lightning that Solas threw at them, the Avvar either died or were forced to retreat into the inner sanctum of the keep. Alex charged forward to follow — his quick 'in' I suppose — but Cullen stopped him.

"There could be a trap," he warned.

The Herald gave an impatient glower. "Would you have me wait for their reinforcements to come? If there had been a trap, they would have sprung it in the outer courtyard. You worry too much, Commander." He pushed past Cullen. His closest companions followed him. Sera cast me a curious glance before she left with the Herald, as if asking me if I were coming too, but not actually caring enough to voice it. I vacillated but, in the end, I was attached to the army rather than the Herald's entourage.

Cullen split up our forces. Lysette led the recovery team and I was assigned as the accompanying healer, never mind that there was a difference between that and a surgeon. Our task was to find the missing soldiers and I was to tend to any wounded. The commander himself would go after the Herald and bring up the rear of his forces, just in case there was an ambush planned.

It was a maze in that fortress. We didn't even know where to begin looking. There could be any number of hidden rooms and secret passages in these old ruins. Haven was proof enough of that. Granted, this keep wasn't half as old. It only dates from the Steel Age whereas nobody knows when the original ground for Haven was broken. But I digress. The main point is that all plans for the keep had been lost and the original owners had all died out a long time ago.

I suggested a grid search, but that proved impossible because of the layout and the possibility of enemies behind every corner. Nobody said it, but we were all thinking that this was an abysmal plan all along and the Herald should never have gone ahead without more information. We kept to the shadows and probed the walls for clues, always keeping the wall to our left. Except that led us straight to the central courtyard and the altar.

In Ferelden, you hear stories about the Avvar of old all the time; how Andraste was of the Alamarri - from which the Avvar are descended; how the Fereldans and the Avvar fought. They were in turn noble savages and uncivilised brutes. Sometimes beauty and sometimes beast. Hearing the stories was not the same as seeing an Avvar war party in all its glory. Cullen was right. Those warriors who fought us in the outer parts of the fortress were simply bait.

"We have to flank them!" Lysette shouted. In her urgency, her Orlesian accent was even more pronounced. "Soldiers, with me!"

I wasn't a soldier but I was moved along with the tide of armour-clad bodies. Lysette turned to me. "It's time to put your new sword to good use." I only nodded, terror gripping me like never before. If anything, the Fallow Mire had shown me that I was not half as prepared for field action as I had thought. And this wasn't just a skirmish with shambling mindless undead or even demons that burst out of the ground. They had no tactics and no guile. What you saw was what you got.

The Avvar were people with plans and ideas and they had managed to entrap our best people. This was their territory and they knew what they were doing, while I could barely see what was going on.

We charged into the rear of the Avvar warriors who had ours surrounded. The only one of the Herald's companions I could see was Solas because lightning kept arcing from his staff, along with bursts of ice and fire. We slammed into the Avvar. I thrust my sword into the flurry of bodies. Rain pelted into my face, almost blinding me. I felt blood splash onto my hands. People hemmed me in on all sides. It felt like a lifetime of death. My shoulder ached with the effort of stabbing again and again. No skill required there. It was just mindless violence and the desperate hope that we were enough. I hated that I couldn't do more to help; that my magic was so middling it wouldn't let me do anything outside of the Fade. I couldn't be like Solas, whose spells kept the enemy from completely overwhelming Alex and his people. I wasn't even like Sera, whose arrows hardly ever missed and made people think twice.

And then it was over. In what seemed like something out of one of Varric's books, Alex drove his sword into the painted chest of the Avvar chieftain.

Silence fell. The giant Avvar warrior, who towered over everyone, including the Herald of Andraste, toppled over without even the slightest of grunts. As if released from the thrall of their leader, the remaining Avvar all stopped and took a step back. The dead and dying lay in puddles around us as rain watered down the blood.

"Surgeon!" Solas barked. I was jolted out of my daze. Surgeon. That was me! I stumbled forward, my fingers still tight around the hilt of my sword. I thought I wouldn't remember how to let go.

Leaning heavily on Blackwall, with Solas supporting his other side, was Cullen.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Post Mission Report**_

 _ **Fallow Mire, 9:42 Dragon,**_

Retrieval and rescue mission for a contingent of twenty four Inquisition soldiers held hostage by hostile Avvar tribe. Left Haven on 14th Guardian and arrived on 21st Guardian at camp established at Fisher's End.

Hargreave Keep assault occurred at approximately midnight, 23rd Guardian. Herald Alexander Trevelyan led a contingent of forty comprising twenty four infantry and sixteen archers. Commander Rutherford led the rearguard forty of the same composition.

Reserves: Twenty four infantry led by Corporal Lysette Cordonnier, with surgeon Sybille Beaumar in attendance.

Reserves were diverted to search for the hostages while the main force led by Herald Trevelyan led the charge. Commander Rutherford brought up the rear. Avvar ambush was encountered but routed by Corporal Cordonnier flanking enemy forces.

Outcomes:

Twenty four inquisition hostages retrieved with minor injuries.

Gained Avvar agent Amund, also known as Skywatcher.

Casualties: Three

\- Private Amelie Varner (Archer)

\- Private Rickard Cooper (Infantry)

\- Private William Price (Infantry)

Injuries: Multiple, consisting

\- Commander Cullen Rutherford

(A list of names follows)

Signed:

Alexander Trevelyan  
Herald of Andraste

 **I recommend that Corporal Cordonnier be promoted to Sergeant for her quick thinking on the field.**

 **~Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast**

* * *

Leliana,

Did you not think Cassandra unduly harsh on the Herald? It was a difficult situation and Lord Trevelyan did succeed in rescuing the soldiers from the Avvar in the end. Casualties and injuries, though regrettable, were expected. He is very new to all of this, and this was his first mission. Nobody could have expected the Avvar to lay an ambush after such an open challenge.

Josephine

* * *

Josie,

He needed to be taken down a notch or two. Cullen suspected something like that might be going on but Alexander refused to wait for more information, according to all reports. In my opinion, Cassandra's wrath was well directed. I suspect nobody has ever taken him to account that way before, and it's time someone did. He's not just a spoiled lordling anymore. The fate of nations rests on his shoulders and we would be doing neither him nor the world any favours if we were to coddle him. I expect we should see an improvement in his attitude.

We're lucky that Solas was there and the surgeon had the gall to suggest subjecting a corpse to the same sort of wound. If not, we may have lost our Commander and that would have been a hard blow for our soldiers.

L

* * *

Dear Diary,

Cullen woke up today while I was keeping vigil. Andrew had just left the room to get us something to eat. I can't help it. He's my first real patient and the one that I had to perform life-saving surgery on, in the wild. I haven't been able to sleep. What if I had failed? It would have been on me. I didn't think I'd ever feel as much relief as I did when I saw his eyes open. The first thing he said was my name in a quizzical way. He looked so vulnerable that I forgot to be angry at him. And, really, he has changed. I don't think it would be fair of me if I kept holding his past against him. It's a long, slow and confusing process, forgiveness. I'm not exactly an expert. But I think I'm getting better at it. He is, after all, trying to fix this mess, just like the rest of us.

All of us have been keeping vigil. Seeker Pentaghast, Erik, Andrew, Leliana… the only one who hasn't been here is Alex. He left as soon as he could, heading off for the Hinterlands to check out reports of more fade rifts.

Talks were held behind closed doors. I don't know what because I'm not privy to such high and mighty conversations, but rumour has it that Seeker Pentaghast ripped the Herald a new one.

I'm back in my dorm now. Andrew has taken over the vigil and there are healers constantly checking in on our good Commander so I think I can finally let myself breathe a bit. I shouldn't be writing but after the last entry, I felt an update was in order, even though nobody is going to read this.

* * *

Dear Diary,

Alex came back from the Hinterlands today and he came by while I was changing the dressing on Cullen's wound. We were talking but not really talking; more like trying not to talk about certain things, like Kinloch, Kirkwall, Solona…

The Herald's entrance was so quiet that I could have easily missed it if Cullen hadn't suddenly tensed and addressed him.

Alex seemed subdued and uncomfortable in a way I'd never seen before, in the brief time that I'd known him. He sat down on the small wooden chair in the corner of the room where everyone had been keeping vigil. I quickly finished changing the dressing and left the room to give them some privacy. I don't know what was said, and I'm dying to, but I didn't stoop so low as to actually put my ear against the door. I'm not that crass. Also, there were other people around and it would have looked really bad.

Anyway, he came and found me afterwards.

"Thanks for taking care of Cullen," he said.

"I'm a surgeon," I said. "It's what I do."

"Well, you're really good at what you do." He paused for a bit and I was wondering if I should be saying anything - not that I had anything I could say because my mind went a bit blank. Then he cleared his throat and suddenly asked if I wanted to go for some air.

I was due a break anyway. Everyone was suggesting perhaps I should take a couple of days to myself now that the Commander was out of danger. I just didn't because I didn't know what I would do. But now the Herald was suggesting that I go for air - _with him_ , it was implied.

We walked outside Haven's meagre walls. It wouldn't even take a single siege engine to breach them; you could practically climb over them in two steps. The resident mouser has absolutely no problem jumping to the top and sleeping there. Not that he does because there are plenty more warm beds in the dorms and he'd much rather pick one of those. My pillow is covered in cat hair.

It was nice out, actually, for a change. Instead of howling winds and snowstorms or sleet like we'd been getting, the sky was a blinding blue; a colour no painter has successfully managed to replicate in full yet. The breach was far enough away for me to look the other direction and not see the swirling green. Some people cast curious glances in our direction but mostly they were too busy with their tasks. There were blades to forge, supplies to store, reports to be delivered.

A layer of freshly fallen snow crunched beneath our feet. I couldn't help but eye all the wild elfroot that was growing in the copse of trees to the west of the chantry. We could always use more elfroot and the garden was abysmal. There were only two flower pots.

"You must think me such an idiot," he said suddenly.

"I… I mean, I only called you that in jest, my lord," I said, suddenly at a loss for words .This keeps happening to me, especially around him. "It's really not my place. I'm just a surgeon." And not even properly qualified. Most surgeons went to University in Val Royeaux. In Kinloch, we mages studied the basics of anatomy - one of the few subjects that I enjoyed and was passably good at - but not at the level that real surgeons did. If not for the Inquisition's current lack of people, I probably would never have been promoted to field surgeon.

"Please, none of that. You're an honest person, Miss Beaumar. You deliver your opinions bluntly and without trying to soften them. Don't ever change that.." He gave a short, humourless laugh. "Cassandra was right. I've been reckless and I've put all of us at risk. I'm irresponsible and vainglorious. All my life, I've hardly been responsible for myself, much less for other people. And it just hadn't sunken in that I'm the _Herald of Andraste_. I've got people holding onto my every word, every action. For the first time in my life, what I do matters; not just to me but to everyone. And I just keep thinking about that night, about the people who got hurt or even died. What if Cullen had - what if _you -_ "

He stopped himself suddenly and looked at me. I didn't say anything. One, he didn't seem like he needed a response, but rather someone who would just listen to him, rather like the way I like writing here, and two, I didn't know what I could say to that anyway.

That's not entirely true. I didn't say anything in response to what he told me, but I did say something.

"You should've come to see him," I said. "Cull - the Commander, I mean. Nobody said it, but everyone was wondering why…" I trailed off.

"I was a coward," he said. "I felt like… I don't know, like I couldn't look him in the eye and tell him I stood by what I did. Because I can't. It was foolish and I couldn't face up to the fact that I made a mistake. A bad one."

He took a deep breath and looked me directly in the eye. His eyes were so clear and grey and piercing and beautiful and … I'm going to stop now. "I'm going to be better, I promise. "That night… changed everything. And I want you to help me, Miss Beaumar. I want you to tell me exactly what you think of me and what I'm doing. Please."

I must have stared at him open-mouthed for quite some time because he started to look uncomfortable again.

"Why me?" I blurted at last. "I'm nobody."

"Because you seem like the type of girl who wouldn't be intimidated by the Herald of Andraste." Alex finally smiled. It was the first smile I'd seen on his face in weeks. "I mean, it takes guts for a circle mage to swap her staff for a sword and shield then go out into the field to fight corpses and perform emergency surgery."

"Yeah, if I never see a walking corpse again, it would be too soon." I didn't tell him that I'd fought corpses in Kinloch as an apprentice because that just sounded too much like bragging.

"Me too," he said, and we laughed together. It felt good.

Dear Diary,

Minaeve walked in on me giving you the latest update.

"You and the Herald," she said. "Are you…?"

"Are we what?" I said, though I could guess. Rumours grew like fungus and a small community like Haven was a ripe breeding ground. Pity real mushrooms didn't grow half so well. Edible ones, not Deep Mushrooms.

"You know…" She looked all sly and knowing.

"We just went for a walk," I said. "I think he just wanted some company and to talk about things that aren't earthshattering."

She was thoughtful for a moment.

"Boys don't ask you to go for walks just to talk," she said at last. "I think he likes you."

"Who likes Sibby?" Florence came in carrying a pile of books.

"Nobody!" I said, just as Minaeve said, "The Herald."

Dear Maker, Florence looked as if her birthday _and_ Satinalia had come all at the same time. I left the dorm soon after saying that I had elfroot to pick, but I couldn't help but think that they're reading too much into this. I mean, Alex is… well, even if he weren't the Herald, he's Alexander Trevelyan. He's handsome and charming, a good warrior, a noble from a good family, and now he's shown that he's aware of his weaknesses and willing to change. Plus, he _is_ the Herald. This isn't like one of Florence's favourite romance novels.

* * *

Dear Diary,

I must have been very flustered the last time I wrote, because I invoked the Maker and I don't even believe in the Maker! It's quietened down a bit since the last time because the Herald has been investigating even more rifts in Ferelden, this time on the Storm Coast, and recruiting, and he hasn't been needing a large scale deployment of soldiers. Or even a medium scale deployment. Since I'm with the army, I guess that means I'm off the hook for now and they've all got something new to talk about. Like Grey Wardens disappearing. It worries me because I haven't heard from Sol in weeks, not that I expect her to know that I'm in Haven. Because, in all the chaos, who's going to keep track of a no-name mage who can't even do magic properly?

By the sounds of it, the upper management could really do with Sol right now. They're a bit stumped as to what they should do with the breach and the only thing they can agree on is that they 'need more power', or so I've overheard Blackwall mentioning to Sera in the Tavern. Ever since Sol became a warden, she's mentioned this, that or the other ancient magic that she's either pursuing, discovered, or can't mention because it's top secret. I'll bet she has an idea or two about the breach. Unless…

No, if she's survived a fucking archdemon _and_ saved an entire circle from annihilation by either demons, Templar Order, or both, and united all the disparate forces in Ferelden and Orzammar, she can survive whatever it is that the Wardens are going through right now. She didn't mention anything particularly disturbing to do with them in her last letter, though that was months ago.

Adan has requisitioned a bunch of books previously used by surgical students in Val Royeaux. I'm not sure how he did it or when it happened, but they were just waiting for me by my work station this morning when I reported for my duties. I have to say, I haven't seen such a large pile of books since I studied with Sol in Kinloch, and the books were always hers. I have ever been the mistress of indices and using them to look up only what I need for a test or an essay. I don't think I can do that with surgery. It's rather daunting to think that I operated on the Commander of the Inquisition forces on a wing and a prayer, minus the prayer.

* * *

Dear Diary

Sera found me trying to make sense of one of the tomes out by the archery fields. I thought she was off with the Herald at the Storm Coast or wherever it was that he was supposed to be dealing with rifts and recruitment.

The book I'm currently reading is huge and as thick as a brick. It's called _On the reanimation of the Human Body,_ by Joachim Gallus, a Nevarran Mortalitasi. I think it's hilarious that one of the premiere scientific texts on the human body was written by a death mage who was interested in raising an army of undead slaves. I suppose he would have most recourse to study human anatomy in great detail. The drawings and diagrams are explicit and he even magnifies the structure of the kidneys, heart, lungs - all the major organs, bone structures, ligaments, muscles. Whatever we've got, he's got in his book.

"You know, this isn't the library," Sera said as she snuck up on me. "Wot you doin' with a book like that anyway?"

"Like you would understand," I retorted. I was a bit sniffy that she'd managed to get one up on me. "Unlike some people, I need to know how our bodies work."

"I just need to know where to shoot and where to kick," said Sera. "Word of advice? Never aim for the head if you're a beginner. The chest's a much bigger target and just as deadly. And a kick to the kidneys will down just about anyone. Well, mebbe not the new guy. You seen him?"

I have not. I didn't even know the Herald was back.

Sera giggled. "The Iron Bull," she told me. "Don't forget the 'The'. That's important. He's one of those Qunari Ben-something. It's all gibberish."

The only Qunari I've ever met was the one who was travelling with Sol back during the blight. Maybe 'met' is too strong a word. I glimpsed him as I passed by the great doors leading out into the foyer. He was tall and grey skinned and looked very, very grim. The only other thing I know about the Qunari is that they tried to take over Kirkwall but the Champion managed to beat their chief - I can't remember what they're called - in single combat. It was all very dramatic. I'm not sure how much of the story I should believe. I tried to ask Varric, but he was very coy on the matter. I suppose he wouldn't sell half as many books if people didn't believe they were all true. The best thing about Haven is actually the library. Kinloch had a lot of books but most of them were published in the Blessed Age. Contemporary texts or recent history were considered too controversial by the Chantry. As for _Tale of the Champion_ , it was definitely banned. Nobody wants to encourage mages to blow more things up. If only they knew it wasn't magic... No, I don't actually want them to know that.

"You're not just here to give me the latest news, are you?" I asked Sera.

"People've got to practise, yeah?" she said.

"I've never seen you practising."

"Just because you haven't seen it doesn't mean it don't happen sometimes."

"What, you don't just go on bucketloads of natural talent?"

"Well, there's a bit of that, but even talent needs honing. And you're not going to get any better with a bow if all you do is go cross-eyed from looking at books." She shuddered for drama. Then she grinned. "Bet I can split every single one of your arrows."

She's so infuriating, I couldn't resist taking her up on her challenge. And I am proud to say she only split nine of my ten arrows, and I hit the bullseye _every single time_ , though not always in the centre.

"You know, for a mage, you're not so bad, not all magicky like the others, even if you do like creepy books."

* * *

Alexander,

My spies tell me more and more Tevinter mages are coming through into Redcliffe, while the Templars are shoring up the defences at Therinfal Redoubt. To answer your question, no, Grand Enchanter Fiona does not have a twin. Something strange is going on, like the mages and Templars are both preparing for something. Alexius' letter asked for you by name. It is almost certainly a trap. Whatever it is, we must act before they do.

Leliana

* * *

Herald,

The Inquisition's forces stand ready, though I pray it will not come to a siege. Redcliffe Castle is the strongest in Ferelden and its walls have never fallen. We would take heavy casualties if we were to assault it head on. Our engineers are working as quickly as they can to build siege engines, but it may be some time before we have enough to have an effect.

Commander Cullen Rutherford

* * *

Commander,

Unless we have enough men to surround either castle for weeks, any assault on a fortress would be ill advised. Sister Leliana will devise other ways to get into the castles.. We will go to Redcliffe first. The thought of a Tevinter incursion into Ferelden leaves a bad taste in my mouth. As I understand, the magic being used at Redcliffe is highly irregular and seldom seen and also very dangerous. With the rifts and the breach, the last thing we need is more dangerous magic running rampant.

Herald Alexander Trevelyan

* * *

Herald,

Am I to understand you intend to recruit both the mages and the Templars?

Casssandra

* * *

Seeker Cassandra,

When asked if I want custard or cream with my dessert, I always take both.

Herald Alexander Trevelyan

* * *

Alexander,

This is serious and not an exercise in vexing Cassandra. I would be careful if I were you. She still hasn't completely forgiven you for the Fallow Mire.

Leliana

* * *

Sister Nightingale,

Mage sighted approaching the foothills of the Frostbacks in the direction of Haven. Looks to be from Tevinter. Should we detain?

Wren

* * *

Wren,

Let him pass. I have a suspicion I know who he is.

Nightingale

* * *

Dear Diary,

The Herald is heading to Redcliffe. Apparently it's been overrun by Tevinter magisters, which is a bit concerning, considering that's right in the middle of Ferelden. You'd think that King Alistair would do something about that, especially since he had been a Templar before he became a Grey Warden, before he became King. How many career changes does one man need? Anyway, a light force is marching on Redcliffe to practise some subterfuge and whatnot - I just got told that I'm going to be stationed at the village just in case there is any fighting, which they're hoping there won't be.

That smooth-talking Tevinter magister who just arrived might have something to do with it. I've never seen anyone walk into that chantry with so much swagger. Actually, I've never seen anyone from Tevinter before. I can't believe there's a _magister_ in Haven! I still haven't decided if he's good news or bad. Again, not my call, but if the Herald mentions it, I'm going to tell him what I think. He did ask.

 _Later:_

Apparently not all Tevinter mages are magisters, according to Minaeve. She would know. Sometimes I wonder why she spends so much time in the library since she seems to have read every book in there three times. Except novels. Minaeve doesn't read novels and thinks they're full of nonsense and a waste of time. Reality is much more interesting. At least that's what she thinks. She and Florence keep arguing about it. Florence reads nothing _but_ novels.

Anyway, time for me to go pack, not that we expect to be gone long. Andrew and the other Templars are coming too, just in case the Tevinter magisters get tricky. Sorry, not magisters. But anyway, Lysette says that according to Dorian Pavus - that's the Tevinter mage's name - most of them haven't dealt with real Templars before. Andrew's hoping he gets to smite one.

* * *

Cullen,

Redcliffe Castle has been barricaded. Suspect the Herald has been taken captive, or worse. We only managed to get out of the village before Tevinters swarmed it. There were too many of them to fight. Sister Nightingale, Seeker Cassandra and the others remain trapped in the castle. We have had no other news.

We are making our way back to Haven via the back roads to avoid pursuit. King Alistair and Queen Anora accompany us. The rest of our people have been lost.

Andrew

* * *

Green was not supposed to be the colour of fire. Red was not the colour of lyrium. It was wrong; all wrong. Haven was far and, Sibby suspected, would not remain a haven for much longer. Its dimunitive walls would not stop those demons and Tevinter mages. The peaks of the Frostbacks could be glimpsed in the far distance amongst the green haze. The corruption from Redcliffe oozed out across the sky towards the breach. Its power was like a charge against her skin, both electrifying and terrifying. She had never been so numb and so aware at the same time. Her tears for the Herald would not fall, yet she could feel…

"What's wrong? We can't stop, Sibby," said Andrew breathlessly. "They'll catch up."

"It's the magic. I feel the magic. I've never felt it before." She stared at her hand as if it were alien. That tingle, that heat; that sense of potential energy and possibility. It had not been like that since her Harrowing…

But this was not the Fade. Their enemies were not figments of imagination to be blown away by a simple wish. Voices whispered across time and space. She couldn't understand what they were saying.

Andrew physically yanked her out of her reverie. "Come on!" he shouted. Sibby shook her head. How could she be so _stupid_ at a time like this? She hoisted the arm of an injured soldier around her shoulder, supporting him as he staggered along. The wound in his side still bled sluggishly through the hastily tied bandage that was now grubby with dirt and other grime.

Lysette brought up the rear, continuously glancing back to see how close or far their enemies were. They didn't even _know_ who their enemies were or what they wanted, beyond the fact that they were from Tevinter. But _this_. Who could want this?

Lightning flashed through the clouds above with no thunder to answer. The energy snaked across the sky. Each time it flashed, it got closer to the breach. Rifts opened. They could only run from the demons. Didn't have to be the fastest, but definitely had to be faster than the slowest.

Ahead, King Alistair and Queen Anora forged their way through the forest. Anora was struggling. Whatever it was that she had expected, it hadn't been this. She was wearing boots pulled from the feet of a dead soldier; her court slippers would have been torn to shreds by now. Still, this was too much for her, though she was too proud to ever say anything. The king supported her through the rough terrain as she stumbled over roots and depressions in the uneven ground. Their royal guards stayed close, but with every rift their ranks grew thinner and thinner. There was no one who could stop the demons from coming through. Not anymore.

Was he still alive? Sibby could hardly bear to think his name. Her grief was frozen. Her shock was frozen. All she knew was that he was probably lost to her - to all of them. If he yet lived, then he was a captive of this magister who would destroy them all with whatever magic he had unleashed. She couldn't imagine that this was what he wanted. Never mind destroying Ferelden. How would this benefit Tevinter? An empire needed people. What was the point of ruling ashes?

Haven was awash with activity, but what were a few barricades compared to this? The Breach still glowed green in the sky, a swirling mass of magic now unable to be stopped. Without the Herald…

"What happened?" demanded Cullen. He rushed through the gates, with shadows beneath his eyes and the scruff of unshaven stubble on his cheeks. He looked as if he hadn't slept. She doubted anyone looked better. Ambassador Montilyet rushed to keep up with his long strides, her usually impeccable coif coming undone at the sides. Solas followed behind at some distance, unnoticed by just about everyone. He hung back, not wishing to make his presence known.

"We don't know," said King Alistair. "But I fear your herald is lost, Commander Rutherford."

"What do you mean, lost?" Cullen's voice was harsh. There was a madness in his eyes that Sibby recognised; the same desperation that had manifested after…

"Cullen," said Andrew. "All we know is that the Herald and Seeker Pentaghast went to confront the magister, and Sister Leliana and her people entered through the trapdoor in the windmill. The next thing, Redcliffe was swarmed by Tevinters. Other than that…" He rubbed his face with his hand. "We don't know whether they're still alive. We barely got out."

"Gentlemen, now is not the time to dwell on what could be," said Queen Anora abruptly, cutting off that line of conversation. She pulled herself to her full height. She wasn't tall, and the days spent fleeing from the enemy has left her dishevelled, but even so, she carried authority like she was entitled to it. There was talk of how she was the one who really ruled Ferelden. "The enemy is on our doorstep. What are your plans, Commander?"

"Haven is on high ground," said Cullen, "but it was not built to withstand a siege. We've shored up our defences as best we could but we have no supplies. If they surround us…"

"We have few allies, Your Majesties," said Josephine.

"I've sent word to Denerim, but there's no way of knowing whether the message even got through," said King Alistair. He glanced around, looking at the small crowd that had gathered in anxious silence.

"Forgive me, Your Majesty, we have quite forgotten our manners, keeping you out here in the cold," said Lady Montilyet. "Shall we take this inside?"

The Very Important People all went inside the Chantry to the all important War Room, which Sibby had never seen before and didn't expect she would ever see. She turned away from the Chantry. Haven seemed colder and bleaker without the presence of the Herald. Hope had faded, and she just didn't see where else it could come from. They had been given a second chance after the conclave and now…

A hand on her shoulder made her jump. "Hey you," said Sera awkwardly. "You wanna go drown our sorrows or somethin'? Everyone's in the tavern."

Everyone was at the tavern. They were crammed in so tightly that the Iron Bull couldn't move his head without taking out someone's eye with his horns. There they all sat, nursing drinks that Flissa couldn't afford to stop pouring. Nobody even made requests. They just took what they were given. Sera elbowed her way between Blackwall and the Charger from Tevinter, dislodging the dwarf who made explosives, and made Sibby sit down next to her. She would have much rather been in the corner with Minaeve and the other mage apprentices.

Nobody said anything. Though the fires blazed, it was still cold, like nothing could ever be warm again. In every window, the green tainted sky could be glimpsed, reminding them of what they had lost and what they stood to lose. The Iron Bull threw his head back and downed his drink in one gulp. "Anaan! To the most charming fucker who ever lived!" he said, slamming his tankard on the table so hard it shook. "Sometimes I even believed him when he said he was going to make this right."

One of the serving girls started sobbing and needed to be comforted by Flissa. Suddenly Sibby felt she needed to be anywhere but here. Alex was their Herald of Andraste, but he was so, _so_ much more. She didn't have any right to claim it, but she'd _felt_ it. Still felt it. It was too crowded here inside. She stood up suddenly, sending her chair topping backwards, made a half baked apology and fled.

The Penitents' Crossing was silent and still. Bodies still lay wrapped in shrouds and frozen, awaiting the thaw so they could be burned.

"You all right?" Sera's voice made her jump. Her hand went to the sword that was no longer at her belt. She'd lost it in Redcliffe.

"Sorry," she said. "I…"

"It's all right," said Sera. "Everyone knew you were sweet on him. For what it's worth, I think he was sweet on you too."

"They all knew?"

"I mean, half of Haven fancied him," said Sera. "It doesn't matter now, does it? Him and his charming big mouth couldn't get him out of this." She picked up a rock and flung it at the sky as hard as she could, in the direction of the breach. It went up at a sharp angle then fell with a clatter onto the solid ice of the river below. "Sorry."

No, it really didn't. How stupid was she to think that anything could ever come of it. At any rate, there were more important things to worry about. She wasn't going to be a silly little girl any longer, pining over a man she couldn't have and never could've had.

"What do you think is going to happen now?" Sibby asked.

"You're asking me?" said Sera. "Pants if I know. Big shits like Cullen and Josephine just tell little people like us where to point our arrows once they've made a decision. Though they're not as bad as some, and I hear King Alistair's a good sort. I've only seen him from a distance. They're not Alex, though, are they? Not to mention Cassandra and Leliana are gone too." She looked lost, almost like a child.

"So… without them, Cullen is the highest ranking member of the Inquisition," said Sibby flatly.

"I guess," said Sera. "I mean, Josephine is important, but Cullen's got the army."

Cullen did have the army, but what was he going to do with them? She was under no illusions about its strength. Even with help from Ferelden, their forces probably amounted to the numbers of a small vanguard in the Orlesian Grande Armée.

They barely saw the leadership in the next few days. Food was brought into the War Room and half eaten trays were brought back out. There were countless pots of tea made. Adan had her brew a lot of the Elfroot and Spindleweed tonic that she gave to Erik and wouldn't say why. Messengers came in and out and refused to answer any questions.

Cullen and the king emerged on the third day and stepped out in front of the Chantry. Behind them were the queen and Josephine. They looked bone tired, but resolved. King Alistair cleared his throat. "Good people of Haven," he began. It didn't come naturally to him, this public speaking. Even when he'd been a Grey Warden, he had always let Sol do the talking. "By now, you will have all heard of what has happened to the Herald of Andraste. The rebels and Tevinters may think they have cowed our spirits, but they couldn't be more wrong! We will answer their challenge with steel! Together, Ferelden and the Inquisition will take back what is ours! We march on Redcliffe!"


End file.
